“Who dares!”
“Dare to be so arrogant!”
Shouts rang like thunder. The elites of疾风之怒 (Stormfang Wrath) didn’t first feel fear, but fury. If a major tribe of these native races had been routed by them, then surely this Qian Ye was merely a solo mercenary—who dared to challenge their authority and attempt to rescue someone?
The sight of Qian Ye raising his rifle, targeting Lao Meng, initially drew blank stares—save for a few of the most powerful ones, whose hearts shuddered. “How is he so fast!”
A sharp gunshot sliced through the Blackforest—the rifle’s barrel discharged a flame of near-transparent power, delicate and hardly resembling real fire.
The shot was aimed unwaveringly for Lao Meng. In that moment, a few Sub-Champion Viscount-leveled experts had a single fleeting thought—if only they’d witnessed the bullet!
Certainly weird and dangerous the blast was, not a soul doubted Lao Meng’s ability to endure it. Perhaps some injury would be involved. After all, Lao Meng had been the strongest in the force—a master among masters in the entire 军团 of Stormfang Wrath. At that level, rifles lost much of their menace; unless sniped at, they posed negligible threats.
Yet in all view, Lao Meng’s body abruptly fell apart. Within a breath, his entire upper half exploded into blood mist, scattered beyond recognition—not even fragments the size of fist remained. His two shins remained embedded solid in the ground, fixed in defensive stance.
In this terrible instant, only a single thought echoed through the minds of the Stormfang Wrath mercenaries: “Lao Meng was taken apart? By just one shot?
Automatically, everyone shifted vision upon Qian Ye—stony, expressionless on the outside, and repositioning his rifle. A Viscount blood-fae locked in with the original native warriors caught it dead square at the sight’s first frame.
The blood-fae’s face twisted from bafflement into sheer horror, his scream unformed—half his anatomy dissolved into crimson clouds. No time to be reborn in the old blood-baths ever again.
In no time at all, every single Stormfang soldier’s perception lay hollow and shattered, unable to digest such a scene. Two greats, renowned as terrors, just vaporized bullet by bullet, without so much a fighting response—hell, even a flicker’s reaction margin disappeared.
Qian Ye shifted the gun again, this Viscount bloodfanged the target. A second too late, but this one found his senses—an ear-splitting, terrified bellow escaping lips as he broke formation, turned, and ran. However, he ran into—his own panicked retreat carried straight towards the native host behind him.
Finally stirring amid disintegration were three stalwarts holding fast within their ranks—each reacting differently. Both a Viscount from the bloodlines and one human martial lord launched at Qian Ye to disable what terrible weapon he wielded. The final martial fighter made for total disengagement—fleeing at max speed.
With leaders breaking formation so plainly, the rank-and-file soldiers fared no better. In desperation, others took to heels, charging at Qian Ye in shrieking frenzies, undecided in fight-or-flight panic zones in between.
Facing attackers headlong, Qian Ye smirked frostily, Eastpeak in hand—an instant overhead slash cleaved the vampire in a halves-split from body to blade.
His mortal opponent, horrified nearly insane, twisted features contorting, striving madly against the inertia charging Qian Ye head-on now equated madness itself—like sprinting over abyss—yet momentum carried. Sliding backwards or even reversing course? No chance in such short time? Only the Void Blink Technique—nailing a Dimensional Shift of high mastery level at minimum could have accomplished this maneuver.
Helplessly, he bore down against Qian Ye, eyes transfixed upon enemy turning body, moving footstep, drawing steel in arch—raising his sword with desperation to intercept, all while certain inside—the block would matter not a wit.
A flick split his mana—split his blade as well—and finally, he himself parted in half lengthwise. His very final moment only carried one truth—*just as expected….*
In short intervals later, Stormfang Wraths elite officers lay nearly extinguished; the hardiest of warriors now understood—they stayed only to be sacrificed. Attempts to flee followed, all too late—as roaring ocean pressure fell from heavens above crushing bodies helpless to rise. From above swordflashes flew wild, and in fleeting moments, all had fallen to death—save for the warrior lord who immediately bolted. That blood-viscount floundering midst native forces faced siege and would endure nothing short of seconds more.
Qian Ye’s domain had yet to recede. He heard heavy ‘plosions—indigent warriors falling from arborage, smashing hard upon grounds, stunned and confused. Intermingled across fronts meant all caught unawares by Qian Ye’s vortex of power.
These native elites only excelled upon Black Forest’s magic-assisted enhancements, but their base talents left much desired—a match hardly to be counted upon even amongst Stormfang Wrath grunts—who were leagues beneath such pressure from Qian Ye’s Ocean Vortex Domain.
Indeed, only precious few natives still stood—resisting falling. One towering warrior barely remained agile upon tree-limb—and already his leg sunken into bark slightly, left embedded footprint behind. Clearly, appearances of composed grace weren’t all they appeared at initial glance. No way he’d hold ground and dance combat so smoothly if pressed hard enough to actually fight.
In moments, battlefield dominion was entirely left to just a single combatant.
“Woool!” young Zhu Ji let an exhilarated howl, burst skyward, leapt dozens of meters through air—barreled straight into Qian Ye’s chest.
A dull BOOM rang off contact. Qian Ye’s face shifted slightly—ribs beneath torso feeling as if smashed directly in gut from a cannon’s face, forcing backward step involuntarily.
Zhu Ji’s little arms held desperately against her guardian tightly, rubbing against chest repeatedly with affectionate joy. Qian Ye face morphed again, and again—caught mid-tug of complex emotion play.
Indeed—such tender, rubbing play hardly harmless in disguise. Overjoyed without thought of her might, chest cavity now let bones creak with cracking sounds under the affection’s weight—surely enough to crack more ribs if her affection escalated even slightly.
What form Qian Ye’s body possessed exactly? That ancient vampire blood forged a carapace nigh-indestructible, armor-level protections beneath blood-energy layers alone—his physique’s fortitude superior even to most dreadnought-grade battle armor. Even skeletal foundations now newly reforged through Gold-Flame Infused Blood—still the beginning of constructing a Re-Burning Body—itself rivaling martial divinity at his strongest.
Indeed—he alone held frame resilient enough to endure a play session. Anything below Grand Marshall’s caliber, especially those at lower tiers risked immediate, mortal injuries upon similar “embrace.”
Comparatively speaking, Zhuji’s might increased multifold since being unleashed in the Blackforest—doubling at minimum. Even for natural prodigal geniuses like Zhu Ji, growth couldn’t achieve that magnitude without certain hidden factors in between.
At present though, Qian Ye held her loosely by the loose hide on rear of her neck, prying her off, holding up close—carefully scanning past loose forehead tresses searching for wounds.
True—Lao Meng’s shot had landed full upon young’s head. Even with her body rivaling his personal resilience, the unease remained hard to shake.
Examined under critical eye: large head bore tiny scrapings—only slight at the temple’s hairline breach, nail-sized, skin-soft—hardly enough. Once bleeding past her fringe now ceased; healing over gradually.
Only now did he breathe at ease. Deep down he recognized—worry had been wasted. Remember clearly—once Song Zining had used Zhu ji as living cushion back in a Grand Marshall grade punch, which even at fractioned output, surpassed Lao Meng’s best efforts.
She’d survived then with bruises and discomfort—such that Lao Meng’s single best shot barely scratching hide…truly something of which to be quite proud. Given immortality—maybe he’d live to brag in retire: “Indeed young mistress bore scars from my hands.” But unfortunately, Qian Ye, burning in rage, robbed him of all such opportunity.
Had any descendants lived to hear their lineage’s account, there would’ve remained a certain tale—a tale where Great Ancestor, in prime of his pride, battled to final breath against King of Tides (as many knew him later).
Truly—this firearm resting now in Qian Ye’s hand—forged by the finger-pointed King himself—not unlike the might of a true Tide Sovereign.
Now cradling young Zhuji once more beside heart, Qian Ye just readied quiet heart enough, preparing inquiries upon her journeys past—when from beyond, furious growls echoed overhead—sharp murderous aura bearing upon high from leaping native warrior high amidst flight mid-skies, flying straight for Qian Ye.
Truly formidable indeed was his maneuver capability—sailing effortlessly even midst Sea-vortex Domain—but six viscount rank Stormfang elites combined, forced him into steady withdrawal. Qian Ye of course held greater mettle altogether. From emergence of 地竜’s巢穴 onwards—increase in battle intuition blossomed to near-perfection. So at the native leaping forward, a raised hand was all he made—one hand pointing long gun straight to his direction.
Expression contorting violently, pure instinct kicked into evasion attempt. The power held by the rifle blew mind: if Viscounts shattered easily before—a direct strike meant death—resistance—meaning not applicable!
Yet barely turning, a suffocating pressure slammed into back and chest, robs him further maneuverability amidst air, dragging hard downward straight at earthbound.
Qian Ye then retracted the domain field. Natives who barely resisted its vortex pressure now found weight lifting suddenly, losing grip upon their equilibrium. Upward flight propelled them from branch, even several smashing hard against thickwood limbs disoriented in dizzy spins.
Unexpected changes caught even the tall man by surprise—momentum lost. Though feet only hovered but inch from earth, direction changes impossible immediately as well.
Face twisted anew—before the hovering warrior, stood Qian Ye, gun in left arm with Zhu Ji in right—gleaming gun barrel aligned darkly towards center mass chest.
The space separating was but thirty yards—avoidance simply impossible.
But even then, Qian Ye made no move to fire—merely gave the native body a single sideway glancer—a silent signal he dismissed concerns sufficiently—retracting rifle in turn. Reaching toward little girl with hand now stretched gently across face’s side.
Face stretched comically under tugging touch—Zhu Ji turned eyes wide in innocence, looking as hurtfully pitiful as ever.
The towered warrior, charging in with fuming rage, let fly with incomprehensible verbal assault, though his movement stayed within limits—as he maintained cautious distance at ten meters beyond. Fully understanding—killing him required but one trivial flick in passing.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage